the silver cross

as a child
you rubbed the metal

crucifix in the cellar
as your

father, fueled on whiskey,

beat your mother
into submission.

a broken arm
a tooth, her glasses split
in two.

but rubbed you did
against the silver Christ.

as if it were a genie in a bottle.

on your childish knees,
on the concrete

floor.
how hard you prayed,

not knowing the life
ahead,

what you were in for.
and how many more times you
would

pray and pray, finding
the cross
once more.